Everything You Hate
by A-Ghost-Named-Calamity
Summary: Mordecai Heller was many things. He was calculating, intellectual, exceptionally clean. A skilled trigger man. The one thing he was not, however, in any sense of the word, was a caregiver.
1. Chapter 1

_(Author): I was inspired to write this after I allowed myself to wonder exactly how Mordecai would react to children. I concluded that probably not well...which I suppose makes it all the more entertaining. It was only meant to be a one-shot, but I'm quite a blatherskite. There will be some violence in the future, but don't get your hopes too high either. I haven't the elaborate imagination or creative ability of the wonderful Tracy Butler (who owns Lackadaisy). I am merely an amateur with an excess of ideas and little skill to employ them._

 **April**

Mordecai Heller wasn't one to linger during social events. In fact, he hated them. That wasn't to say he didn't attend them, however. But, for the most part, his social interactions at said events were limited to obligatory conversations with the higher-ups and the occasional decline of a dance offer from some brave soul. He did his job, and that was it.

"You know, you really ought to consider what you're declining more carefully next time," said Asa Sweet, staring at the retreating back of Mordecai's most recent rejectee, taking in her petite build.

Mordecai blinked slowly. "I am fully aware of what I'm declining, thank you."

Asa snorted barkishly, turning back to his drink. "I really don't think you are."

The triggerman suppressed the urge to continue the pathetic game of 'Who Gets the Last Word' and instead opted to roll his eyes behind Sweet's back, annoyed at the larger man.

"I know how much you value your personal space and all, but would it honestly kill you to at least appear sociable? There are plenty of young ladies just waiting for an opportunity. You really ought to consider at least talking to one. Take that darb dame there for instance-" At this point he gestured sharply to a female seated nearby. "She's been making eyes at you all night! The poor soul ought to have some compensation, don'tcha think?"

It was true, the young lady whom Asa had referred to had been trying to catch Mordecai's eye all night, something he did not appreciate and had successfully ignored up until this point. Her dress was remarkably short, even for a flapper, and as Mordecai turned to finally look at her face, he was almost startled by the amount of makeup painted sharply around her eyes. He knew it was considered fashionable, but _honestly_. At some point she had to become aware of her resemblance to a hooker. For all he knew, and cared, she probably was one.

Upon meeting eyes, she smiled at him, wiggling her fingers flirtatiously. Mordecai scowled, turning his attention to Asa once more.

"Mr. Sweet, I would appreciate it if you refrained from getting involved in my personal situations," he said sharply.

Asa let out a drunkenly loud laugh. "Oh come on! What's wrong with this one? So she's got a little bit of eye make-up going on. I'm sure you can get past it eventually!" Another incredibly boisterous laugh came out of his mouth, making Mordecai almost cringe from embarrassment and annoyance, as there were several individuals turning to stare now. How Mordecai hated drunks.

Nevertheless, the night manager continued speaking about the girl, very obviously finding a great amount of humor in the romantic life he had invented for Mordecai.

At this point the triggerman stalked off angrily.

He came up empty handed in his search for silence. With the party in full swing, there was little he could do but sit on a bar stool and watch at the ridiculousness surrounding him. How he hated these events. There were too many drunks and too many sobers. The band _never stopped playing_. It was loud and irritating and it was giving him a headache. So when the bartender set a glass of whiskey in front of him- "Courtesy of an admirer, sir."- Mordecai actually decided to take a few sips despite not being a drinker, according to himself. It was obviously nothing close to prescribed whiskey, but perhaps it would provide some relief from his now pounding head.

It was exactly in that manner that he found himself a little more intoxicated than he had initially intended on becoming. How he hated alcohol and what it did. He had never been able to hold his drinks very well, and quite frankly with that knowledge of himself he could only blame himself for what occurred that night.

The same woman from before had at some point appeared next to him. In the future, if he were to allow himself to think back to that night he would only remember pieces of their conversation. Her name was Millicent - "But, please! Call me Milly." - and she had in fact been the one who had sent him the drink, wasting no time in informing him that it was almost the 1930's and therefore about time women took initiative. There was high-pitched, obnoxious laughing and there was someone pulling his hand and more drinks and …..and that would be everything he remembered.

Needless to say, he was incredibly confused upon waking up to unfamiliar ceiling tiles. If his head hurt before, it quite literally felt like it was _consuming_ itself at this point. Despite this, he jolted upright with a sound of pure horror escaping his mouth. An overwhelming nausea immediately joined his headache.

Short, blurry clips of the previous night played out in his mind. There was sloppy kissing that tasted like bitter alcohol and horrible, drunken touching. She was pulling at his tie and yanking it off over his head and….oh God.

"No," he said outloud. "No, no, no, no, no, NO, _NO_ , _NO!"_

He pulled spitefully at his own hair and turned angrily to the spot next to him where she should have been. It was, however, empty, as was the rest of the hotel room. Quite thankfully, he would never see her again. And if he did, he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't shoot her.

He could really only blame himself. But that didn't stop him from blaming everyone else.

The next day at work had to be the absolute worst workday Mordecai had ever experienced, which was saying something considering his dislike for most of his coworkers. He seemed to be having bad days more often than not but _this_. This really set a new standard.

He had yet to set foot in the door when Nico had already wrapped his thick arm over the thinner feline's shoulders. How he hated this gesture. He felt it implied a certain familiarity he neither felt nor wanted with anyone he currently knew. Before Mordecai could even protest, the Cajun let out a loud, whooping laugh, punching him playfully with his other hand.

"I _never_ did tink you would be da kind to pick up girls, peekon! If it wasn't all ova' town I wouldn' believe it!"

Mordecai froze, wide eyed.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to," he finally managed to spit out. He knew exactly what the nuisance was talking about. But he wasn't just about to admit the most shameful moment of his entire life to anyone. He didn't care what people remembered seeing or how many witnesses saw him leave. They would get nothing even remotely close to confirmation of what was already suspected. He sharply jerked his entire body away from Nico.

"Oh ho ho! I tink you know exactly what I'm referring to!" Nico said in an annoyingly knowing voice, baring his teeth in a grin. At this point Serafine appeared beside him, seemingly just as excited as her brother.

"Cher! You _animal_!" she said barkingly. She took a long puff of her cigarette then smiled at him, blowing the smoke in his direction. "An' to tink I 'bout took a bet on you!"

Mordecai scowled, stubbornly refusing to hold his breath or even react from the disgusting smoke. What he was proving from that, he supposed he'd never know. "Once again, I repeat that I haven't the slightest clue what either one of you is idiotically clucking about."

"Ah, peekon, you know!" started Nico, winking. "Las' night when you took you lady fren' home, eh? From de party!"

"I did no such thing."

Serafine snorted. "We all seen you, cher!"

"You obviously saw wrong."

"Oh? Den all of Marigold seen wrong, yes?"

"It seems to be the only explanation."

At this point the Cajun siblings stared at him for a moment. They turned to look at each other and simultaneously burst out laughing, throwing their heads back in delight of the entire situation.

Eyes narrowed into slits, Mordecai turned on his heels and stalked through the door.

His entire walk towards Mr. Sweet's office was filled with side-ways staring, pointing and whispering, as well as a few ill-hidden chuckles. The Jew could feel his face burning all the way to his ears, his teeth gritting together almost to the point of cracking them. How could so many people possibly have seen him leave with that woman? Did they have nothing better to do than stick their nose in business that wasn't theirs? He heard a series of giggles as he passed a group of women and had to suppress the urge to throw himself out of a window, opting instead to glare at them coldly until they shamefully lowered their eyes to the ground.

"Well, if it isn't Joe Brooks himself!" Sweet exclaimed from his chair as Mordecai came in through the door, shutting it gingerly behind him. The room was heavy with the smell of cigarettes, something Mordecai had come to accept only recently, despite being surrounded by heavy smokers every day. "Have a seat, old boy."

Complying, he took the chair in front of the desk, removing his hat and holding it in one hand.

Asa sat forward in his chair, partially leaning over the desk to get closer to his employee. "Level with me, Mordecai. The skirt with the stilts? You took her home, didn't you?"

This time he actually sighed. "Not that it's anyone's business, but I can assure you that nothing of the sort occurred."

"Oh, _come on!_ We all saw you," the night manager insisted. "Well….most of us saw you. I was half seas over, but that doesn't mean I can't make connections from what I heard. Never did take you for a lady looker. But, I suppose everyone has their own taste, be it a quiff or not."

The Jew furrowed his eyebrows at his employer. "Mr. Sweet, I am no drugstore cowboy! That established, there seems to be some misunderstanding of what exactly transpired after the party. I took the lady home, I went to mine respectively, and that was the end of it!"

That was a lie, Mordecai thought in disgust.

Asa chuckled, leaning back in his chair once more. "Alright, alright. I know when to butt out. Whatever it is you're convincing yourself, i'll take your word for. You're probably gonna have a much harder time convincing everyone else though."

"I don't quite understand why I've become the center of attention here. All of your other workers are hardly capable of attending a social event without necking the first woman they encounter. I'm allegedly seen with one female and suddenly there is little else to gossip about," the triggerman said bitterly.

"Well, the very fact that you've never been seen with a woman before is exactly why it makes for such a bull session."

"...I suppose," replied Mordecai reluctantly, feeling a bit defeated by this entire conversation. "If we're finished here, I'd like to know my assignment so I may be on my way."

The larger man grinned at him. "Don't get so sour over it. People need _something_ to talk about. You'll see, pretty soon Charlie and his supposed bimbo lover will be back in the limelight."

And he was right. With Mordecai returning to his usual affairs and honoring his vow to never drink again, the topic soon found little satisfaction with the lack of new information and slowly started withering away with nothing to revive it.

By the second week, it was just something a random newcomer would be filled in with during a game of cards and responded to with minimal interest.

By the end of the month, the whole ordeal was pretty much forgotten. Mordecai had even begun to convince himself that it was all a result of his mind creating bad situations to haunt him after one too many drinks. Yes, that was definitely it. He really must remember to speak with Asa about the dangers of acquiring alcohol watered down with possibly hallucinogenic drugs.

Weeks turned into months with little change to what Mordecai deemed normal in his life. Some lives were lost, others went missing. At one point, he nearly got shot in the head. They were all passive things and held little effect on his overall well being.

 **November**

As most of Mordecai's work took place at night, he had become accustomed to sleeping late into the morning. While he wasn't particularly fond of this schedule, he had found early in his career that resisting this only resulted in unnecessary sleep deprivation. As a triggerman, the last thing he needed was to fall asleep in the middle of a run.

Today, he had been woken unceremoniously by the cold much earlier than he was accustomed to being awake. His fingertips were numb as he begrudgingly pulled himself away from the little warmth his sheets were providing. Had his landlady forgotten to set the furnace? He wondered this as he pulled out multiple blankets from the closet. Perhaps he should go remind her that freezing the occupants of the apartment building was not a wise thing to do.

He tossed the blankets on the bed and began to get dressed with what he deemed was minimally required to appear presentable. He yanked his coat off it's hook bitterly before making his way through the door. The hallway proved to be no better than his own home, making him wonder why none of the other residents had complained by this point. He couldn't help but scowl. This was quite possibly one of the worst ways to start a day.

The building's landlady, Brita MacGouren, lived on the first floor. As Mordecai resided on the fifth, he opted to use the elevator to save himself some trouble. Upon arriving on the correct floor, the doors opened smoothly as the jew briskly passed them, determined to get this over with. Perhaps he would even be able to sleep again once he returned to his bed.

He knocked on the door loudly, partially hoping Mrs. MacGouren was still in bed so she too could experience the discomfort of getting out of bed in freezing temperatures. On most occasions, Mordecai didn't mind the aging Irish woman. She was a kind person that somehow seemed to know the exact amount of conversation Mordecai could handle before he became annoyed on their random encounters. It also helped that she was completely aware of his profession and therefore didn't find the need to question his odd waking hours. Her late husband had actually been mildly involved in the business, sometimes renting out the basement of the apartment building to Marigold whenever they were in need of a good hiding place for a new delivery. It was in both their associations with Asa Sweet that Mordecai was able to acquire his apartment in what was typically considered an upscale neighborhood. However, an ambush during an unloading proved to be fatal for Mr. MacGouren, leaving his widow to continue his work.

The door clicked open to reveal a woman several years older than Mordecai wrapped in a shawl. She had dark bags under soft eyes and the beginnings of silver hair peeking through. The jew thought that she looked far too worn to still be trying to keep her deceased husband's enterprise afloat, something he had conveyed to her on one occasion to which she laughed good-naturedly. If he let himself think about it too much, Mordecai found it disturbing how much someone could remind him of both Mitzi May and his own mother at the same time.

She smiled at him now. "Mr. Heller."

"Mrs. MacGouren, pardon the interruption at this hour but-"

"Say no more, Mr. Heller, I know exactly what you're about to notify me of," she interrupted, covering a yawn with her shawl. "I'll go down to the furnace right now."

"I'd appreciate it."

"I do sincerely apologize. I hadn't expected such a change in temperature overnight."

"It's quite alright, but I do advise you to invest in a radio. Perhaps it would minimize the cases of hypothermia you cause this winter."

The Irish woman shut the door behind her. "I doubt I ask enough for rent to purchase one."

"I strongly beg to differ."

Mrs. MacGouren let out a light hearted laugh as she headed down the hallway. "Don't you all?"

With the central heating working, the temperature in the building began to rise slowly. Despite this, Mordecai felt no need to go back to bed after returning to his home. He doubted he would get any more sleep now that he was up and quite frankly it seemed like a waste seeing as he rarely had this much time available during the mornings.

He decided to go out for his morning tea, something he usually did not have the option to do. Wrapping himself in a good coat and a warm scarf, he headed out to the closest cafe open already.

"Good morning, sir!" the cheery waitress greeted him as he sat down. "What can I get for you today?"

Mordecai frowned. Why was she so loud? It irritated him, though he opted not to point it out for now. "Just a cup of chamomile. And bring me a copy of today's paper."

The jew read the news while he drank his warm beverage. It was quiet in the cafe with only one customer other than himself and the annoying waitress gone in the back. Mordecai actually quite liked it. He decided to intermittently do this again, possibly once the weather was pleasant.

Apparently, there had been a devastating fire a few days ago in New York City. Mordecai's brows furrowed, noting how close the street was to where he remembered his mother and sisters were. He made a mental note to send out a letter at some point as he finished the last of his tea and stood from his seat, folding the paper under his arm. He was overdue for one by several months now anyways.

He set a dime on the table for the tea and paper before heading out the door. Standing on the corner of the street, the triggerman casually wondered if there was something else he should do now that he was out. He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. Most stores were more than likely not going to be open for another hour. With this knowledge, he decided to head home.

The building was significantly warmer now, Mordecai noted as he rode the elevator up to his floor. He let himself yawn as he looked around the small space absent mindedly, crossing his arms. The warmth was beginning to feel comfortable and welcoming. He was half debating taking a nap once he got to his apartment.

As the elevator lurched to a stop, Mordecai furrowed his eyebrows. Ears straightening, he focused on a noise from the other side of the elevator. It was distant and a bit muffled, so he couldn't properly identify it. When the doors slide open, he stepped into the hallway and paused to listen once more. Now he could distinctly recognize the noise as a child's crying.

It was weird. He didn't recall any of his neighbors having children. In fact, most of the building's occupants were childless, save a few exceptions. Had he gotten new neighbors? He didn't recall anyone moving. Not that he was really familiar with any of his neighbors but he was pretty sure he would at least notice someone leaving. Perhaps someone had family visiting.

But as Mordecai made his way towards his door, the crying seemed to be getting…..louder?

Suddenly, he stopped abruptly, heels digging into the carpeted floor. He stared wide eyed at his apartment door. Or rather, what was _in front_ of it. He wasn't expecting anything delivered. So why was there an old basket in front of his door? And why was….

"Oh, no," he said out loud with the beginnings of horror creeping into him, his body now mirroring that of someone expecting an attack. What he had worked so hard to bury in his mind about _that one night_ abruptly came rushing forward at once. This couldn't be related to that….could it? _It_ _couldn't be._ He could see her face, hear her laughter and feel her hands all over him. Her _disgusting_ hands. His skin crawled in repulsion. He felt as his heart began to pound louder and faster in his throat and ears and suddenly he felt the need to grab the wall. "No. No. Oh, _God no_."

Mordecai turned around sharply and stood facing the other direction, one hand still on the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his breath come in and out of his mouth faster and faster until he had to focus his mind on that and only that so as to not cause himself to faint.

"No..no..no... _no_ ," he continued to whisper angrily to himself, eyes still squeezed shut. This wasn't happening. This was _not_ happening. This was _NOT_. _HAPPENING_.

This wasn't real. He had just seen wrong. It had clearly been a plain brown delivery box. They were probably shoes. Yes, that's what it was! He was remembering now! He had in fact ordered some new shoes from the catalog the other week. His shoes had finally arrived!

But the noise wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop!? Shoes weren't supposed to cry.

Mordecai didn't know what else to do. So he didn't do anything else. He also wasn't entirely sure how long he stood there facing away from the noise. What felt like decades to him could have just as well been merely a few minutes. Horrid thoughts and memories were replaying themselves in his mind, the blood in his head pounding in unison with his heart. His muscles were beginning to cramp from how stiffly he stood.

Finally, when he could no longer take the pain in his back, he turned around, granting himself another long pause. He took a deep breath through his nose as he stared at the source of the noise.

Slowly, he stepped towards it.

Looming stiffly over the basket, he stared down at its content with his nose wrinkled in an expression of disgust.

Amid several layers of blankets, an incredibly tiny face was scrunched up with its pitiful sobbing. Small ears were flattened back against its head as it continued to cry.

It was with a great amount of alarm that Mordecai noted the child's dark fur. White markings contrasted sharply against it and became accented by the white blankets surrounding it.

 _So what if it has black fur?_ Mordecai thought bitterly. He wasn't the only dark-furred feline in the St. Louis area. There was an older gentleman who lived upstairs that had dark fur. The inn keeper's son from three streets over had dark fur _and_ white markings. His appearance, he tried to convince himself, was not so unique so as to use it as the sole basis of confirmation in this situation. In fact, he probably wasn't even the only dark furred fool that the quiff had managed to intoxicate.

Something caught his eye as he continued to stare distastefully at the small face. He knelt down to gingerly pluck the corner of a folded piece of paper from amongst the blankets, pulling at it with only his fingertips so as to avoid touching anything else. Unfolding it, he found an exchange name and number scribbled across it.

He scowled. Did they honestly expect him to call for an explanation? The audacity to just drop off this….this _thing_ at his doorstep without even the grit to face him! That was the _prime_ example of cowardice.

Something occurred so suddenly in Mordecai's mind that he snapped his head up in amazement. If he was recalling correctly, that horrid night had occurred on one of the first days of April. They were now _two weeks_ into November. If his mind wasn't failing him, that was roughly seven and a half months apart. That didn't even come _near_ the window of conception!

He let out a triumphant 'ha!' before refolding the paper and attempting to move towards the door, ready to make a phone call because this was _clearly_ a mistake.

But there it still sat, blocking his doorway. That basket with _it_ in it. It had actually stopped wailing now and was just hiccuping in defeat, eyes still squeezed shut.

Mordecai looked up and down the hallway. What was he supposed to do with it while they came back for it? Maybe he could just leave it here in the hallway. He quickly crossed out that option, as his soon-to-be-awake neighbors would most likely call the police if they saw a child just sitting at his door. The last thing he needed was for this thing to get him involved with the authorities.

Unlocking his door, he let it swing open as far as it would go. He steadied himself with the door frame before using the toe of his shoe to slowly push the basket and it's contents into his home. He pushed it far enough to let himself in as well and then quietly shut the door behind him. Frowning at the bundle one more time, he headed to the room he had modified to become his work space.

Sitting down at the desk, the jew took the receiver off its switch hook and waited for the operator.

"Please connect me to St. Louis exchange 4 - 4 - 5 - 7."

Mordecai heard the click of the connection, followed by ringing. On one hand, he was almost hoping nobody would answer just for the sake of not having to speak with _her_ again, if she was in fact behind all this. On the other, he desperately needed her to return for the gift basket because there was _no way_ he was going to be lassoed into this ordeal.

"Milly Evans,"answered a smooth voice when the ringing stopped. Mordecai was disappointed at how easily he recognized it.

"You have a lot of nerve just dropping off some kid at my door," he said in a low, angry tone.

There was a short pause before an equally familiar high-pitched laugh came from the other end. "I knew it!" she said joyfully. "I knew you would call!"

"Well, it's not like I had much of a choice, did I?" Mordecai said bitterly. "You are currently the _last_ person I wish to speak to, and yet here I find myself."

"Oh, there's no reason to get so mean! We do have a history afterall," she laughed flirtatiously.

Mordecai growled angrily, annoyed beyond belief at her _stupid_ laugh. "There is _nothing_ relating us in _any sense._ And most certainly _not_ this ridiculous package you threw on my doorstep this morning. How did you even find out where I lived? Aside from everything else, you're a stalker!"

"I thought you'd appreciate it!"

"I most certainly did _not_ ," he snapped back. "And if you think I'm going to allow myself to get tied into this situation you are sorely mistaken! You must take me for a fool if you think I can't see what's happening. You're ignorant enough to get yourself impregnated and try pushing the responsibility on the last person you remember. This is no child of mine so you _will_ do me the favor of returning this _instant_ to retrieve it!"

"I hate to break it to you but it is in fact _you_ who is sorely mistaken. The kid's yours."

Mordecai scoffed. "You're quite a dumb Dora. You expect me to believe it's mine when our regrettable encounter occurred less than eight months ago?"

"Well, some previously unforeseen circumstances forced me to speed up the process a bit."

The jew could feel the beginnings of a headache coming. "What are you even talking about?"

Milly sighed from the other end, sounding a bit irritated as well. "A cute little couple had said they would pay me some hefty compensation if I kept the baby and let them have it once it was born. I was in need of some extra dough so I thought 'hey, why not?'. How hard could childbirth be."

Mordecai furrowed his eyebrows. "You were _selling_ it?"

"Well, I _was_ ," she argued matter-of-factly. "Up until some bug-eyed Betty convinced them to wait a bit longer. Said they were rushing into things, or whatever. So I'm already thirty weeks into this whole mess when they suddenly tell me they changed their mind! It was ridiculous, not even some petty cash for all the trouble I had went through." At this point she sighed once again. "Luckily, I have a friend who was kind enough to help me out. She managed to get me some pills to get rid of the kid."

"You _drugged_ it out of your body?!" Mordecai exclaimed.

"Yeah, and it _survived_!" she said with a light laugh. "It was crazy! Nearly landed me in the hospital but there it was just kicking and screaming. Your kid can sure take a hit."

The dark furred feline jerked as if he'd been physically struck. "It is _not_ my kid!"

"Oh, don't be stupid! Just look at it. Everything about it resembles you. Granted, I don't think I saw you in the prime of your appearances but I _distinctly_ remember your face. You have a very handsome face, you know? One of the reasons why I found you so appealing."

Mordecai felt the urge to shatter the phone against the wall. "Whether it is or is not mine makes no difference! I want you- no, I _demand_ that you return immediately and take it with you. I don't care what you do so long as both of you are out of my sight and you refrain from _ever_ involving me in _any_ of your future affairs. I want nothing to do with either of you!"

"Sorry, honey, but my jobs done. You're not the only one who has a life. I've got a big job waiting for me in California, pretty sure this one could be my break. The _last_ thing I need right now is baggage."

At this point Mordecai jolted to his feet so quickly, he almost knocked the chair over. "You're leaving?! You _cannot_ be serious?!"

"I am! Heading out tomorrow morning, actually. That's why I had to drop the kid off with you today."

"Where are you?! Tell me where you are! If you refuse to come then I will _gladly_ deliver it to you! This is _your_ responsibility, don't be so _ignorant!_ " By this point he knew he sounded hysterical, but he didn't care. The reality of the situation was beginning to take it's toll and his head was pounding.

Milly laughed lightly once more. "It takes two to tango, sweetheart. Now, I really must be going. We've been hogging the line long enough."

"No! You will _not_ be going anywhere! You insufferable, bullheaded quiff, none of this would have happened if you weren't making a career of seducing intoxicated men!"

"Oh yeah, insult me some more, why don't you? That's certainly the way to go," she responded sarcastically. "Well, I wish you the best of luck. Look me up if you're ever in California."

"No, no! Do not hang up! Don't you dare! _No! Don't you-_ "

He stopped mid-sentence when he heard the line go flat.

He was angry. He had never felt this angry in his entire life. He bared his teeth at the telephone and slammed it against the desk, yelling sharp profanities in a mixture of English and Yiddish. As he backed up, he ran into the chair, which he violently kicked aside in his fury, sending it tumbling backwards with a loud clutter.

Mordecai stared at the chair, his chest heaving from shallow breaths.

And suddenly, there it was again. The crying had started once more. He could hear it coming from where he had left the basket in the other room.

Grabbing the door of his study room, he threw it shut with another loud bang, putting a barrier between himself and the noise. He didn't need that right now. He had to concentrate and think. There had to be some way Millicent would still take the child with her. He didn't want it here. He didn't want it in this entire state. It _had_ to leave with her.

But he didn't even know which train line she was using. Or was she taking the bus? It was likely she would be catching the train in the next town over. California was far enough that he doubted there were any direct passenger rides. She could be busing to Kansas?

He took off his glasses and ran his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes wearily. She could very well be hitchhiking and he would never know. He didn't even know what part of California she was going to.

With his back pressed against the door, he let his knees slowly bend until he was seated on the floor. He was suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted. He had been wrong before. _This_ was now the worst day of his life.

And on the other side of the door, the product of the second worst day of his life continued to cry.

 _(Author): Forgive the out of character-ness. Let it not be said that an effort wasn't made (acknowledging how plain the text is despite hours of pleading and crying to my computer. Just let me italicize, you pompous prick!). I tried to be as historically accurate as possible but quite frankly I am terrible at research. Bah! I'm still considering leaving it as a horrible, ambiguous one-shot intended only to entertain in the most bitter of ways. But then again if I did that, a lot of things wouldn't make sense. Feedback is much appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

_(AUTHOR)_

 _At last. A second chapter. This project sort of got thrown on the backburner._ _I decided to make some major plot changes and so by consequence some things are no longer relevant. For example, the baby's birth is now roughly two weeks early as opposed to the amount stated beforehand. Sorry about that! I know, it's ridiculous. There was an actual purpose for it, but it's just not going to work anymore. So it's still a bit of a preemie, but not that bad and therefore highly more likely to survive in the late 1920s. I'm hoping to be able to put a lot more action in near-future chapters, so just hold on for a bit! :) Meanwhile, enjoy some stubborn Mordecai!_

It was rare for Mordecai to call Mr. Sweet asking for a day off. He disliked taking personal days unless he was incredibly ill or recovering from a serious injury. To request days for his own leisure was indolent and unprofessional.

However, by noon of that same day he had concluded that today would have to be an exception to that rule. He doubted there would be any issues. With a sudden surplus of goods, most of his current work involved him standing idly during Marigold's nocturnal social events, usually near Asa while the night manager lost money at poker.

"You're certain nothing's wrong? Seems unlike you to spring this up suddenly," asked Mr. Sweet over the phone.

"I assure you, everything is….fine," responded Mordecai. "I began something I had anticipated would be over by now but I find myself needing the rest of the day to tend to it."

"Well, as long as you don't forget to bring in the tax forms tomorrow."

"Of course. I'll get those finished tonight."

"Sounds like berries. Oh, and before I - wait," Asa Sweet paused from the other end. "Is that...a _baby?_ "

Mordecai's eyes widened and he instantly clamped his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. Asa could hear the child crying?! He didn't think the phone would pick up the muffled sound from the other side of the door.

He uncovered the smallest amount of the mouthpiece he could speak into. "I haven't any idea what you're referring to, Mr. Sweet."

"I thought I heard- ah, never mind," said the Jew's employer. "Just remember those tax forms tomorrow."

After hanging up, Mordecai leaned back in his desk chair; which he had had to pick up after his previous fit of anger and checked thoroughly for any dents or scratches. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

My word, did that child _ever_ stop crying?!

He had actually stepped out of his office before to see if there was something he could do to stop it, but that mostly resulted in him just standing over the child and frowning at it. As he had no intentions on keeping it, he didn't think it wise to invest too much energy in it. The child could just deal with whatever was bothering it for now.

However, this decision turned out to come with several downfalls; the biggest one being the crying itself. Mordecai had sat on the couch for about half an hour going through several copies of telephone books, trying to find _anything_ that would be useful in this situation. There seemed to be a severe lack of information regarding social services available in the books, though, and the whole thing just ended with the dark-furred feline getting angry again at both his empty-handedness and the noise.

Now, sitting at his desk once more, he realized that the child was essentially getting the upper hand in this situation. He, Mordecai Heller, the _owner_ of this apartment, was being confined to a single room in his own home. He couldn't even relax in his own living room, for crying out loud!

With a puff of indignation, he stood from his chair and went to open the door. He was instantly greeted with a louder version of what had been afflicting his ears this entire time. He would pay it no mind, he decided. What he _was_ going to do was make himself a light lunch.

In his kitchen, Mordecai decided on simply frying some artichokes to appease his hunger. Tuning the radio to a music station was not something he did regularly...or at all, really. He mostly kept the thing for the informational value of it. But this entire day had already been a series of irregularities, so he thought perhaps it would drown out the crying a bit. He just gritted his teeth together in annoyance as he continued to prepare his meal.

It wasn't until he had set his plate of finished artichokes at the table that he noticed the knocking. It was severely muffled by the cacophony in his apartment; so whoever it was could have very well been knocking for a good while before he finally heard it. He immediately turned off the radio, a little embarrassed. He sighed bitterly and stared longingly at his food. The artichokes would have to wait, he supposed. It's not like he could pretend he wasn't home at this point.

He gingerly opened the door, but not before pushing away the basket with his shoe once again and letting it slide a little ways away. His landlady, Mrs. MacGouren stood before him in the hall, an expression of deep concern on her face.

"Mrs. MacGouren," Mordecai greeted flatly.

"Mr. Heller, I've had seven phone calls today and all of them were from your neighbors making a noise complaint against you," she answered bluntly. She furrowed her eyebrows at the man. "What in _heaven's name_ are you doing in there?"

Mordecai wasn't sure how to answer that, and if it wasn't for the smoother tone of voice Mrs. MacGouren tended to give off, he might have lashed out verbally at the accusing sentence. He decided not to just for the sake of shortening this conversation, as well.

"My sincerest apologies. I'll refrain from playing the radio at an excessive volume," he responded, and began to try and close the door. However, it was quickly stopped by a tan-furred paw.

"There is a baby crying in your apartment, Mr. Heller," continued the landlady.

Mordecai blinked. "Yes," he said, clearly unwelcoming any further discussion on the matter, though she either didn't get the message or chose to ignore it.

Brita frowned. "You don't have children."

"My….relative is in town," said the Jew, perhaps a little too slowly. He didn't like the way Mrs. MacGouren was looking at him...it was making him feel too self-aware. "They're staying over."

"Really?" questioned Mrs. MacGouren. "Could I possibly...speak with your relative? I'm concerned about their child."

Mordecai glared, annoyed at her persistence. She had never been this displeasing before. "They're not here at the moment," he responded sharply, looking at her down the bridge of his nose. He had no need to be explaining himself to anyone.

"Oh? Your relative trusts you enough to leave their child with you for the past hours?" She raised her eyebrows at the younger man and crossed her arms.

It was obvious she knew he was lying. Suddenly, her face softened as she looked sincerely at him and lowered her voice.

"Mr. Heller...if that baby is in any way related to your job, I have some very serious concerns. If Asa has involved kidnappings in his business now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take away my contribution to Marigold. It's one thing to run a speakeasy for consenting adults, but to involve _children_ -"

" _No!"_ Mordecai exclaimed in a coarse whisper, interrupting her. "Mrs. MacGouren, you're mistaken. The child is in no way involved with my work. There is absolutely no need to mention it to _anyone_ at Marigold."

Asa could _not_ find out about any of this. Nobody from work could. He would be the laughing stock of the entire rum-running business!

"Then do explain, Mr. Heller, what an unmarried man like yourself is doing hiding a baby in your apartment," she said stubbornly.

Mordecai sighed in annoyance. He supposed someone had to find out sooner or later, better it be his landlady whom he only saw occasionally and not someone like Asa or, _God forbid_ , the Savoys. He supposed he would be a reasonable suspect if the landlady went missing and, frankly, he didn't want to deal with the hassle of moving again.

Mordecai didn't recall inviting Mrs. MacGouren into his home. In fact, he distinctly remembered telling her _not_ to come in. He didn't understand how such an... _aging_ woman could be so bullheaded without even raising her voice. So _falsely_ polite and lacking in common courtesy! He was beginning to understand how she had managed to keep up with the liquor business without her husband. She was as manipulative as most everyone Mordecai had met in this business!

Or maybe he was just angry and uncomfortable at having someone rummage through his drawer of white linens.

"Do you use this sheet often?" she asked, raising it up for him to see.

Frowning, he stared back at her through slitted eyes. " _Regularly._ "

"But you have three more just like it?"

"I use them _all_ regularly."

Brita stared at all four carefully folded sheets and made a soft humming noise. "Shame. They would have worked just fine."

She was currently trying to find something to fashion into a clean diaper for the child, who she had placed on Mordecai's bed despite his protests. After forcing herself into the triggerman's home, she had commenced to flutter around the basket and make all those ridiculous noises women make when they see a baby. He had _very_ begrudgingly explained to her his situation, but she just didn't seem to grasp the fact that he wasn't keeping it so she _shouldn't touch it_. The only good thing coming out of any of this was when the child stopped crying after being picked up by the landlady.

The older feline suddenly snapped her finger in a sort of 'aha!" manner. She rifled through the pocket of her skirt, pulling out a small roll of bills held together by a thin rubber band and a thimble.

"This ought to do it," she said triumphantly and handed both objects to Mordecai. His frown deepened as he stared at the wad of bills and thimble in his hand.

"What are you expecting-" He started, but stopped abruptly as he heard the sound of ripping fabric. He gasped in horror as Brita tore one of his linen sheets with both hands. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he exclaimed, distress clearly in his voice.

"I purchased this sheet from you, dear," responded the landlady, her back turned to him as she began working around the child, who had begun to fuss quietly.

" _You did no such thing!"_ He said angrily. "I never even _insinuated_ I wished to sell it!"

"Well, when you took the money I offered you, I assumed you had agreed."

"I didn't know what the money was for, you didn't even tell me!" continued Mordecai, he stared down at the small roll and the gold-colored thimble. "Why even give me the thimble then?!"

Mrs. MacGouren hummed lightly. "Consider it a tip."

Mordecai squinted angrily at the back of her head. "You tried to distract me with some random object," he spit back at her. He let out a long, frustrated sigh and began making his way out of his bedroom door, tired of the entire situation. "Well, once you're finished _ruining_ my household necessities, see yourself out the door. You've done quite enough already," he said bitterly over his shoulder. He decided he was keeping the money _and_ the thimble. It was actually a nice thimble.

The dark furred feline didn't wait for a response, and instead headed towards his kitchen where his plate of artichokes lay cold. He sneered at the plate of cold food before picking it up and tossing it in the garbage. He had lost his appetite in the mess of the situation and the bad mood he was in because of it wasn't helping. Instead, he placed the kettle on the stove and made himself a simple cup of tea.

Mordecai had to suppress an eye roll as he heard the child begin to cry pitifully from the bedroom once more. Instead, the Jew poured his tea and took the cup into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table with a coaster. He could hear Mrs. MacGouren gently shushing the baby as he once again dove into the telephone book, hoping his second attempt would be more fruitful than the first.

It wasn't long before Mrs. MacGrouren joined Mordecai in the living room, jumping the swaddled child lightly as it continued to fuss.

Mordecai looked up from his books with an expression of annoyance. "As I said before, Mrs. MacGouren, you may see yourself out the door now."

"Have you fed your baby anything?" she asked instead, ignoring his statement.

 _His baby._ Mordecai visibly grimaced. "No. It won't be here much longer if I can help it."

The older feline gave the triggerman a disapproving glance. "Infants need food every three hours at most, Mr. Heller."

Mordecai stared back at her with a bored expression. "That's common knowledge."

Mrs. MacGouren sighed and stared down at the child in her arms. "Well, perhaps it would be in your best interest to feed your child something. I can only assume you wouldn't enjoy enduring a couple more hours of consistent crying and if you continue to refuse, that's exactly what you'll get."

This time Mordecai did allow himself a small eye roll. He knew she was right, he supposed the issue was then that he didn't _want_ to feed it.

But what did he care? If she wanted to feed it, she could go right ahead. As long as he wasn't involved, he didn't see the problem. It's not like he didn't want it to be fed, he just didn't want to be the one to do it.

"You may act on your own discretion, Mrs. MacGouren," he finally said, going back to his books. "However, I ask that you refrain from becoming a distraction to my current work."

"Of course!" she said enthusiastically, placing the swaddled child down on one of the couch cushions on the seat across from Mordecai. She created a border of cushions for it, though Mordecai didn't quite understand why. It wasn't like the child could move even if it wanted to from how swaddled it was. It looked like a fussy, oversized, white potato.

As Mrs. MacGrouren worked in the kitchen doing God knows what, Mordecai couldn't help but peek up from his book now and then to stare at the child. He supposed that since his initial shock was beginning to slowly subside, a bit of curiosity was started to take its place. He frowned at the bundle as it continued to fuss, moving its head in what Mordecai could only assume was its pathetic attempt to liberate itself from the confinement of the linen.

Gingerly, the Jew slide the telephone book onto the coffee table and took a step around it. He hovered awkwardly over the bundle before reaching down to take a strand of linen between two fingertips and yanked it away, causing the rest of the layers to loosen a bit, granting the child more liberty.

The child didn't seem to appreciate the movement, though, as it began to push its head back in even more distress and fussed even louder than before. Perhaps it was trying to capture someone's attention.

Regardless, Mordecai squinted at the child before stepping back to his seat and resuming his previous work, ignoring the baby completely now. He also ignored Mrs. MacGouren as she made her way back into the living room, gathering the child in her arms and struggling to feed it without the proper gear. She changed back and forth between a clean square cloth she was dipping into what Mordecai imagined was his last can of evaporated milk and a small spoon she was using to pour the tiniest amount of food into the child's mouth.

The silence between them was not as uncomfortable as it may have seemed, mostly because both were too busy concentrating on their own thing, the only noise being the rustling of pages and the infant as it hungrily tried to grab onto anything that might be food. Regardless, Mordecai wasn't fond of this going on much longer. He didn't much appreciate people being in his apartment in general and he felt the aging women had more than overstayed her non-existent welcome.

"You should consider purchasing a milk bottle if you aren't planning on hiring a wet nurse," said Mrs. MacGouren, startling Mordecai from his thoughts.

"I don't plan on doing either," responded Mordecai in a monotone voice.

"So you intend on spoon-feeding a child barely a week old?" She questioned. "Seems like a lot of unnecessary trouble for yourself."

The triggerman sighed, closing the telephone book and placing it on the table. "What I mean is I don't have any feeding plans for it _at all_. As I have explained to you multiple times already, Mrs. MacGouren, I have no intentions of keeping it. As soon as I find any information on-"

"He," interrupted the landlady.

"I - what?"

"He," she said again. "He's a 'he'. You keep saying 'it'." She smiled softly at him. "He's a boy."

Mordecai stared blankly, seemingly unimpressed. "Mazel Tov."

"Well, regardless of your attitude at the moment, dear, the fact remains that anything you end up doing is most likely going to take more than a couple of hours. Your child is already frail as it is, I can't imagine you'd wish to cause it even more suffering. I'm certain you don't wish to starve him to death...right, Mr. Heller?"

"Of course not," Mordecai said, exasperated. "My intentions are to get rid of it, not-."

"Him."

"HIM. My intentions aren't to kill HIM."

"Then I suggest you invest in a milk bottle, "she continued stubbornly.

The younger feline sighed, annoyed. "It's unnecessary. I've already decided that the out-placement program is possibly the best option at this point in time. All I have to do now is find the train's schedule."

Mrs. MacGouren furrowed her eyebrows. "Mr. Heller, the mercy trains stopped running months ago."

"What?!" exclaimed Mordecai.

"Surely you've heard of the new legislation? They stopped running since then."

In reality, Mordecai hadn't heard of it. He had stopped dealing with anything political since earlier that year, when the economics of the nation became of heavier interest to the Jew. His stocks had suffered tremendously, but he was fortunate enough to recover some of his investments after some very quick-thinking from his own part. Lucky for him, Asa Sweet also seemed to have just the right connections and managed to bring in an adequate amount of the right patrons from in and around St. Louis, though he still suffered a bit of a pay cut.

Mrs. MacGouren shifted the child and began patting its back. Mordecai's nose wrinkled in disgust when it spit.

"If I may be so bold...may I inquire as to why the obstinate decision to rid yourself of your own son? Have you ever considered possibly keeping him yourself?"

Mordecai made a disbelieving 'che' noise under his breath, as if the very idea was ridiculous. "I have no use for children."

"Hardly anyone does, Mr. Heller. By definition children are quite useless," said the Irishwoman. "But that doesn't disclaim any paternal relations one might have with them."

"Perhaps biologically," responded Mordecai. "However, I am in no position to be caring for anything, _especially_ in my line of work. You know full well the dangers faced by people in this business, Mrs. MacGouren. A child is a liability."

"And here I was believing you were the best in your field?" countered Mrs. MacGouren, a sort of sarcastic note in her tone of voice. "You must not be as experienced as I've been told if a child is able to challenge your sense of security."

Mordecai scowled at the insulting accusation. "My skill level has nothing to do with my decision! I have little to discuss on the subject because the fact of the matter is any child is better off at an orphanage than with me _because of my skills_."

"In this tanking economy?" she said disbelievingly. "Any child in an orphanage at this point, won't be long before they're rummaging the streets if they don't die from starvation or hypothermia. He _won't_ be adopted, that's for sure. Parents today are more likely to get rid of their own to save themselves a penny than take in somebody else's. Judging by the size of your child, it won't live past a few weeks in those conditions."

There were a couple seconds of silence as Mordecai took in her words. "That's a very broad generalization that I highly doubt you have any evidence for."

"It's a generalization based on _reality_ , you're simply refusing to admit your decision is setting your child up for a life of misery as a street urchin if they actually manage to live that long."

The older woman sighed sadly, looking down at the child. He seemed content after finally being fed and had drifted into a deep sleep, blissfully unaware of the discussion being held concerning his own future. Mrs. MacGouren pulled one of the edges of linen to wrap the child tighter. Meanwhile, Mordecai sat contemplating her words, staring at both of them with a frown.

Finally, the Jew broke the silence. "I thinks it's best if you return to your own home now," he said in a monotonous tone.

After sighing once more, she finally stood from her seat and gingerly placed the sleeping baby onto the seat where he wouldn't fall. She brushed her hands on her long skirt and started to silently make her way towards the door before turning to look at him. "I urge you to sleep on your decision, Mr. Heller. It's your own blood that you're throwing into the streets to die. You're going to have to live with the knowledge that you willingly did that to your own son just to save yourself some trouble."

"You're being dramatic."

She opened the door and stopped right before shutting it behind her. "Oh, and before I forget. Not that it has anything to do with our discussion, but there's going to be a ten percent increase on rent for all residents starting this month."

The baby's sleeping face scrunched up in annoyance as Mordecai hollered "WHAT?" after Mrs. MacGouren shut the door.

(AUTHOR)

 _The out-placement program and mercy trains mentioned were part of a program originating in New York to deal with the massive amount of children living on the streets at the time. Trains filled with children would pass through cities on their way to a new state, usually rural areas, where the children would work on farms for a foster family most of the times. The program ended in 1929 after legislation passed to help families in need. They are now known as orphan trains._


End file.
